


The Gracious Hands of Heaven

by victorianvirgil



Series: The Craft of Carnage [2]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, Murderers, Sequel, Serial Killers, cannibals, logan was in med school, loosely inspired by silence of the lambs, only the core four are in this one, patton is an fbi agent, roman and virgil are dating lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 14:41:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21163313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorianvirgil/pseuds/victorianvirgil
Summary: FBI agent Patton Caner broke up with his boyfriend in order to protect him from the Stratford Slater, the serial killer and possible cannibal roaming the town and the state unchecked. But his efforts were in vain because now, Logan Starling is missing and Patton must do whatever it takes to find him alive.





	The Gracious Hands of Heaven

It’s not that Patton didn’t love Logan, no, that wasn’t it.

The eldest of the Starling children—eyes twin emeralds glimmering with specks of golden starlight whenever he looked Patton’s way—had been the love of his life. Sculpted for him by the gracious hands of Heaven.

But breaking up with him was for Logan’s own safety. Because for all his years of schooling, he would have followed Patton down into the darkness that he now pursed without reservation. And if Logan’s survival meant spending what may have been his last few nights alive alone, it was a sacrifice Patton was willing to make.

The Stratford Slayer would have used Logan against him, and Patton couldn’t take any chances with this case.

It was the first he was heading, a chance to prove himself to his superiors, and he wanted to do just that. If he could solve and incarcerate the greatest serial killer of the decade, his future with the FBI was surely promising. So he isolated himself, focused on his work.

The first time he saw Logan since their breakup was at Remy’s Halloween party hosted the Saturday before October 31st.

There, as soon as Patton stepped into the living room, was Logan. And in his lap, the most gorgeous boy he had ever seen.

All long, lean legs and dirty smiles, grabbing Logan another drink and watching him consume it all before kissing him breathless.

Patton could hardly breathe but he looked away, knowing that it’s what he had to do.  _ He _ had been the one to break up with Logan, even if it was for the other’s own good, and Logan had the right to kiss whoever he pleased.

It was good that he wasn’t thinking about Patton, made it easier for him to run into the face of danger without a tether holding him back. There should be no reservation when doing what was best for the greater good, one life for dozens.

The boy tugged on Logan’s hair and in turn, he moaned, a shiver shooting down Patton’s spine and he turned away, finding Remy to talk to.

“Pat! Glad you could make it!” he exclaimed, clapping Patton on the shoulder as he tried to focus on Remy. He was dressed as the devil, muscular thighs bulging out of his thigh high boots and tight red costume that, of course, came with blood-red wings and a tail. Instead of horns, however, he wore his notorious black shades on the top of his head.

Over the right wing, Patton could see the guy in Logan’s lap let his free hand roam along Logan’s chest and breathe a smile against his lips. A twinge of jealousy flared inside of him, and Patton was glad that the cleaver in his hand was just part of his costume.

He couldn’t be trusted then, not in his Jason mask that concealed his identity.

“Patton?” Remy asked, drawing the other’s eyes again. He sighed, taking Patton by the elbow and tugging him towards the window where there was a bit more privacy. The music was still blasting and he had to shout over it, but at least there were less people around. “You broke his heart, you know.”

“I know.”

Remy was friends with both of them and couldn’t know about Patton’s assignment either. He would have thought the whole thing romantic and blown Patton’s cover by telling Logan that the breakup was a shame. It would ruin the plan and surely end up with one of them dead, so it wasn’t a risk Patton could take.

“This is the first time I’ve seen him happy in a month.”

There was nothing to say to that.

“Just . . . if it’s bothering you, just have a drink. Did it work out with that other guy?”

“What other guy?”

“The one you left Logan for?”

That was the lie Patton had told everyone and technically, Patton  _ had  _ left Logan for the murderer he was hunting down.

The cannibal, if there was some truth to any of the rumors.

“What’s that guy’s name?” he said instead, receiving a look from Remy. “And then I’ll drop it, I promise.”

After a moment, Remy sighed and pulled his sunglasses back down over his eyes. “Roman Chilton, and that,” he pointed towards the opposite corner to an ethereal-looking man with dark, dark hair, “is his on-and-off boyfriend, Virgil Sidero.”

The man was dressed like a Victorian era vampire, a ruffled cravat a blinding white against the deep maroon and black of the rest of his outfit. Fake blood trickled down the lips curved into a terrifying smile as he watched Logan and Roman stand and head for the door.

A heartbeat later, he followed, and a shiver licked through Patton.

“So they’re off again right now?” he asked.

“Not sure,” Remy shrugged, “and Pat, it’s really not any of your business.”

They ended the conversation with that, Patton staying by the window as Remy went off to tend to his guests as a good host always should. Three figures slipped into view through the two eye-shaped slits and Patton brought his fingers to the glass. It was cold to the touch, juxtaposing the warmth of the room and the heat inside of Patton at seeing Logan again.

Roman was snuggled against Logan’s arm, steering him along as Virgil dutifully followed a comfortable distance behind them as if he were nothing more than a random stranger with no relation.

Something itched inside Patton, an instinct from the academy, but he told himself that it was just jealousy and whatever had been in the spiked punch. So he stepped away from the window, allowing his now ex-boyfriend to do as he pleased.

Someone offered him a shot and a moment later, Patton was outside, following Logan. He rounded a corner and froze, eyes widening at the sight of Roman and Logan standing in front of an alley. Logan had his arm tightly wrapped around Roman’s waist—a feeling that Patton remembered all too well—and one of Roman’s hands tangled in his hair as he kissed Logan deeply and dominantly.

Patton turned away, biting his bottom lip until it bled and walked back to Remy’s place.

The other watched him slip back inside—a hint of sympathy in his eyes behind the sunglasses—but Patton didn’t see it, too distracted by his own pain. He didn’t know how bad it would hurt to see that, to see Logan kissing someone else the way he had only ever kissed him.

But he had hurt Logan and deep down, he knew he deserved it. Logan was a free man, and if anything, it was motivation for Patton to wrap up the case quicker. Before it was too late and the damage couldn’t be undone.

He found himself in the kitchen, opening a beer and downing it quickly as “The Monster Mash” hummed faintly from the living room. Patton blocked out the song and blacked out not much longer after that.

-

Five days passed with Patton buried deep in his work and without seeing Logan. There was nothing strange about it.

He had gone without being in Logan’s presence for a little over a month before the Halloween party, and even when they were dating, they hardly saw each other aside from bed and the occasional date night. Busy, busy, busy, Patton with work and Logan with med school. But it had been fine, they made the most of the time they had together.

Logan’s mom called him on his cell that fifth morning, panic clear in her voice. “Patton, honey, is Logan with you?”

So he hadn’t told her about the breakup, then. “No,” Patton said, putting down the photograph of the handsome grad-school kid that had been abducted about two weeks ago. It was too late for him and now, Patton’s hope rested with the next victim fitting the profile to be abducted. He told himself that he would save this next one. “Why?”

“I haven’t heard from him in a week is all. His phone is going straight to voicemail and I was wondering if his broke and he was going to get a new one. But I’m not sure why he wouldn’t have just called me on yours to tell me that instead of giving me a heartattack.”

Patton froze, doing his best to keep his cool. It was part of his job, handle cases and information untethered and with getting emotionally invested. Do the job and do it well, but nothing more. “When was the last time you spoke to him.”

“A little less than a week ago.”

“More specifically, if you can remember.”

“We went out to a late lunch this Saturday. He sent me a picture of him and Remy at a Halloween party a little later.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Starling. I’m at work right now so I’ll put in the missing report immediately. We’re going to find him.” It was professional, far too stiff for the situation. And just as Logan’s mom began asking him what was wrong, he hung up the phone.

Uncontrollably, his hands shook as he pulled out his laptop and filled out the report, sending it to his superior. There wasn’t a second to waste, five days was an eternity for a captive.

Soon enough, he was on the phone again, first calling Logan. Straight to voicemail. He called again and again to no prevail.

His next call was to Remy.

“Hey-”

“Tell me everything you know about Roman Chilton.”

“What the hell, Pat?”

“Logan’s missing,” he clarified, although it felt more like a justification than anything. “He was last seen . . . with Roman, maybe he has some insight. About where he went after they . . . after they were done.”

It had taken a lot to say, but luckily, he didn’t have to speak much again. Remy gave him the address and said he’d try to text Logan because he hadn’t heard from the other since Saturday either.

Patton didn’t say that it didn’t look good, didn’t even let himself think it.

Without getting permission, Patton took his car and drove towards Roman’s home. The house he approached was newly painted, a strong navy accented with pure, angelic white. A little red car sat in the driveway, half-hidden by a smiling maple oak with fiery leaves brushing the clear sky.

It was beautiful and the doorbell sang when he pressed a skeletal finger to it, the slim digits of his other hand clutching his badge.

The door swung open to reveal Virgil sporting an oversized soft blue sweatshirt with white lettering across the chest reading “Virginity Rocks”. His boyfriend’s, no doubt.

“Patton Caner, FBI,” he said, flashing his badge.

Virgil studied it a moment, brow raised in half-amusement. “Good afternoon, officer.”

“Does a Roman Chilton live here.”

“He does.”

“May I speak to him?”

Nodding, Virgil turned his head and shouted, “Babe, someone here to see you.”

“Have them come inside, I’m making dinner.”

“Do you mind?” Virgil asked, turning back to Roman. “I’m not a good cook and I’ll ruin it. Plus, it’s damn cold to have a conversation in the doorway. Don’t want to let the warm air out.”

“What’s he making?”

“Boeuf Bourguignon, he’s been cooking for almost two hours now. It’s wonderful, I promise.”

“Alright, then,” Patton agreed, mentally listing off his weapons on hand. Pepper spray in his left pocket, handgun in his right, and a taser somewhere in-between. Not that he needed any of them, he could hold his own fine in a fight.

And he wouldn’t have to fight these people, he could judge those things well and knew that this would be a short trip.

Virgil guided him down the lavishly decorated hall, past pictures of the two of them hanging up on their walls. One of them must have had a taste for these things, and when Patton found himself in the kitchen, he figured that it was Roman.

“Greetings,” Roman grinned over his shoulder, turning around seconds later to continue stirring. “Sorry, I only got a quick look at whoever that is. College friend? High school?”

“My name is Patton Chilton, FBI,” he repeated, moving towards the island close to where Roman was cooking. He could see it already, Logan slipping into the kitchen after sex and getting himself a glass of water, naked and full of regret. Because as good as Roman was, he wasn’t Patton, the man he still loved through heartbreak. And then there was the matter of the other boy that had walked in on them, an ex-boyfriend that seemed more amused than anything to find Logan fucking the living daylights out of Roman.

But none of that had even happened, not that Patton would ever know, and in the real world, Patton’s seconds of daydreams made him vulnerable. And Virgil used those few seconds to crack a baseball bat over his head, the sound of his body dropping to the floor better than a grand slam.

“That was close,” he said with a grin and Roman just continued to stir, lifting the spoon to his lips and taking a bite of the meat. Extracted from the thigh, tender and juicy and better than what even sex with Logan would have been like.

“Go clean him up, I’m almost done with dinner,” he said and Virgil complied, dragging the body down a flight of stairs and chaining his limbs to a wall. By the time he was done, Roman had set the table and put food onto their plates,

They dug in seconds later, without reservation, blood staining their teeth as they grinned at one another.

“You cooked him well.”

He had, and about halfway through their meal and down the rickety old stairs, Patton screamed as he saw the remains of Logan Starling.

-

It wasn’t until Virgil and Roman were on their dessert that Patton realized Logan was still alive.

He was soaked in blood, caked in it, and he had lost his left leg. And, after a failed attempt to converse, his tongue.

“Those sick bastards,” he spat, eyes still only half-lidded and head pounding. Blood was trickling down his neck, soaking his hair and the collar of his jacket. Logan’s jacket, he realized. “We . . . we have to get out of here.”

Logan, who was struggling to breathe, managed to laugh—the sound like a choked cackle. Patton couldn’t blame him for his pessimism this time, deep down, he knew there was no hope.

Patton was chained to a wall and Logan was down to only one leg, they didn’t stand a chance.

The choking turned to what Patton assumed was coughing, blood splattering onto the floor in a childish design. His skin paled beneath his blood and Patton knew that he was running out of time. Five days had been an eternity, but the past twenty minutes had been triple that.

Logan, although not yet dead, was closer to dying than ever before.

“Hang on,” Patton said, glancing to his right and there, beside a long white table that must have been recently cleaned, was a silver tray holding knives, scissors, and a key. All it would take was slipping the chain. “I’m getting us out of here, just don’t die on me yet, Starling.”

Patton would have made him promise if he could, instead, he focused on relaxing his body so he could break his wrist.

Biting back his scream took every ounce of energy he had left, sweat mingling with blood and sliding down his skin like an everflowing river as he whimpered and slid his left hand free. When he looked up, Logan’s green eyes were on him, impressed an encouraging.

It was all he needed to move past the pain and towards where the route to their escape lay, squinting his eyes tightly shut and feeling his fingertips brush over the sharp, silver edge.

“If you want to get out to go see him, all you had to do was ask.”

Roman had slipped into the room silently, neither seeing or hearing him until he wanted to be seen and heard.

Freezing, Patton glanced up, spotting a man with long legs, a defined chest, and curls slipping into his eyes. As handsome as a prince, something of daydreams and fantasies.

But he wasn’t that, really, not at all.

He crouched down, pressing the back of his hand to Logan's forehead and clicking his tongue in distaste. “So cold, so cold.” It was more to himself than anything but Patton felt the words go through him like a chilling wind all the same. “Not much time to cook him for just me and V . . . might have to throw a dinner party to share the wealth.”

Patton spit onto the ground when Roman looked up, hatred clear in his eyes and the murderer—making up half the Stratford Slayer—grinned.

He hadn’t seen the knife in Patton’s hand and when he did, it was too late.

With skill none expected from such a small man, but was hardly rare of those that went through the academy, he cocked his left, broken wrist and fired the knife into the space between Roman’s eyes with dead accuracy.

Roman was dead before he even hit the floor, crushing Logan with his weight.

Patton’s next move was for the key, biting the inside of his cheek and ignoring the tears pushing at the corners of his eyes until he finally grabbed it, plunging it into his chain to unlock it. Free now, grabbing the scissors for security before collapsing at Logan’s side.

“Lo, Lo baby, I need you to get up.”

He was too far gone to answer and when Patton grabbed his arm—skin cold, so cold—all he could do was throw Logan over his left shoulder and pull himself to his feet. Logan had at least four inches and twenty pounds on him but it didn’t matter, adrenaline was coursing through his veins as his survival instincts kicked in.

Clutching the scissors in his right hand, he ascended the stairs with Logan on his back and with absolutely no idea where Virgil was. Like a horror movie come to life, and exactly what Patton expected when he applied to the FBI.

But he thought he’d be able to keep his loved ones safe, to not have to abandon the case in order to bring the one person in the world that he actually loved away from death.

“Almost there,” Patton promised when they were a street away, pulling out his phone and setting Logan down behind a fence as he called headquarters. “Sir, I found the Stratford Slayer. Two men living off Barnum, found them while looking for Logan Starling. I killed one but the other is still at his house and armed.”

“Are you safe?”

“No, hiding about a street away and Logan is dying.”

“We’ll have the swat team and an ambulance on their way. Address?”

Patton gave it to him, hanging up after and settling Logan’s head in his lap so he could clean the blood from his face. As fucked up as Patton knew it was, Logan still managed to look beautiful—underfed and pale, sure, but beautiful.

“It’ll be okay,” Patton promised, but Logan was beyond the point of comprehension. “Just hang onto me, I’ll get you out of here. I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> oh no, an ending where you don’t actually know the end? and a writer who knows that she won’t write another fic to satisfy? oh no, you poor things.
> 
> lmao i’m really glad you guys liked the first one and so i decided to write a sequel! i’ve never written in patton’s pov bc hes not really my favorite character but i’ve learned it i don’t hold him to the boundaries of not swearing, he’s kind of fun. (my philosophy is let patton say fuck and then he’s the best character. on god)
> 
> i had some fucked up shit planned for this but ended up settling. at one point, the plot was gonna be for ro/v to fuck in a pile of lo’s blood in front of pat while he screamed bc his boyfriend was dead but couldn’t find a way to work it in (im only half kidding)
> 
> anyway, until next time,  
ronnie


End file.
